Nothing Here At All
by Ryuu Sayori
Summary: A short story about Gilbert's first battle and his reaction to it. Rated T for some violence.


**A/N:**I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia, I think that explains it all.

The grass was stained red. The beautiful, green grass on which Gilbert had spent so many days playing, was tainted. The bodies on that red grass were dead, or in the process of dying. Bodies Gilbert had slain with the same blade that was still clutched in his hand. Corpses of people who had families, children, wives...who'd had lives. The child could only think about who those people he'd killed could have been. What they could have succeeded in.

He could only stare at the carnage with the arm holding the sword limp at his side. It was horrifying, but he couldn't force himself to stop looking. With body parts strewn over the field, and horses with cut throats collapsed upon their riders, it was a terribly bloody scene. But to Gilbert, to the child who had been completely oblivious before all this, it was something...indescribable. His mind couldn't come up with words to match the images he was witnessing.

Then there was someone behind him. It was an enemy. One of the last. The final foe who dared try and defeat the newly rising nation. Spinning, Gilbert cut his legs off at the knees with one clean slice. He watched emotionlessly as the man before him screamed in pain, clutching at what used to be his legs. Lips turning down, the nation rose his sword and cleanly beheaded the man. Warm blood spurted from the severed veins and splattered over Gilbert's face and his once white uniform. He brushed a drop of the red liquid from his face and wiped it on his pants, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. He'd just killed over fifty people. There were no words.

Carefully, almost lovingly, the albino wiped the blood off of his weapon and then sheathed it at his side. He began walking through the bodies, not stopping to scavenge them. Others could do that. Gilbert would not disrespect the dead who'd fought so bravely in life. It went against everything his vater had taught him. Continuing on, he reached the edge of the battlefield. Here the grass was green. It wasn't tainted. Yet.

As he took a few more steps onto the green grass, a shudder tore through his small body. Then another, followed by many more. Soon he was shaking, shaking so much that he couldn't focus his vision. He kept trying to walk, kept trying to move, but he couldn't see where he was going and tripped, ending up on the ground. It was there he stayed, fearful and shaking. His eyes were wide and panicked; like he'd only just realized the true extent of what had just taken place.

Ever so gradually, tears began to make their way down the small nation's red cheeks. Once those first tears came, more followed. He couldn't stop sobbing and shaking, all while the images of the gore he'd caused flashing through his mind. It was like a nightmare he could never escape from. Those deaths he'd caused...they'd haunt him for the rest of his days.

Gilbert hugged his legs to his chest, and rested his forehead upon his knees. The tears were still falling, his body was still shaking, and his eyes stared blankly ahead, never blinking. He couldn't...he couldn't deal with this...what he'd done. Thoughts of self loathing entered his mind, and he wondered at that moment if he should end it all there. But something inside himself advised against it. If he lived on, maybe he could repay all those souls through other deeds. Maybe...maybe he could get rid of this burden. But even the part of himself that suggested that knew it to not be true. Once one kills another, the killer is tainted for eternity.

Gilbert was corrupted. Before he'd had the body of a ten year old, and nearly the mind set of one. Now, after all this violence, he had the body of a ten year old and the mind of someone who has seen unimaginable death. In that one day alone, the little nation grew up by decades mentally. The child clutched at his head, gripping his hair. He couldn't take back what was done. He could never...there was nothing to be done. Nothing to be said.

There was nothing at all except a child dressed in blood stained clothing wearing a sword at his side and mumbling to himself in a small, untouched part of a battlefield.

There was nothing except the child's deranged laughter, then a fading scream.

Nothing here at all.


End file.
